


6 Takes Care Of Her Own

by Cielestine_de_Winter



Category: James Bond (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-18
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-04-26 23:06:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5024125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cielestine_de_Winter/pseuds/Cielestine_de_Winter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabble.  Just a slice of how MI6, or Q in particular, takes care of his agents.  And how one agent is starting to take notice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	6 Takes Care Of Her Own

The funeral was on a beautiful September morning. James Bond detested funerals as a rule and was solemnly thankful when Q turned on his heel while M was speaking and headed toward James’s Aston Martin. Missions waited on no one, James mused as he followed the younger man. James unlocked his car and slid in the leather seats. The small quip died on his lips when he caught sight of the stunned bleakness etched painfully in Q’s stormy green eyes. He was forcefully reminded that Q had never lost an agent before. He pulled the car quickly out and maneuvered the streets of London quietly.

  
Jefferson Rose, OO2, had been funny, competent, and easy going. James had enjoyed working with him the few times M had put them together. He played the role of impetuous friend as well as James played sophisticated playboy. James didn’t have the same fundamental comradery that he shared with Alec or Eric, but he had liked the other agent. Enough to be slightly angered that the agent’s life had been cut short, not on the job, but by a drunk driver who walked away from the crash unharmed.

  
James glanced over at Q when they pulled into Vauxhall. The younger man was staring blankly ahead. “I don’t understand why you have a parking space when you don’t drive.” James said pulling, as his normal habit, into Q’s parking space. It was a familiar observation.

  
“Yes, I see how you are highly inconvenienced by my parking space,” Q said shaking himself. He gracefully climbed out of the car and led James through security to Q branch. “One day I am going to do terrible things to your precious cars and you’ll have no one to blame but yourself.”

  
“I’ve offered up myself as your chauffer while I’m in London,” James shrugged, glad that some of bleakness in Q’s face easing. “It truly would be my pleasure.”

  
“We both know that would be a disaster,” Q said unlocking the door to his personal lab. He touched a final code into a cabinet and pulled out a familiar case. He gave James his tech with his usual efficiency.

  
James appreciated his quartermaster’s dependability, but he wondered if he was as unaffected as he seemed. In the few months they had worked together, Q had remained unmoved by James’s gentle attempts to get to know him better. Granted, James hadn’t tried very hard. He was still reeling from M’s death, Silva’s betrayal, and Skyfall’s destruction. James resolved to try harder.

  
With one last nod to Q, James left Q-Branch to make his way to the airport.

 

 

Months later, after a dozen grueling missions James was reminded of his resolution when he walked into Q-Branch and caught sight of an enormous gift basket, partially dismantled on a table next to R’s desk. Q was on the comm, directing OO3 through what looked like the streets of Bangladesh.

  
“New admirer?” James said with a smile.

  
R looked at him blankly. James through a glance at the basket beside her. R smiled brightly. “Hardly. OO9 sent it to Q.”

  
“His birthday?” James said leaning a little closer. Information on the quartermaster was a closely guarded secret.

  
“No, he just found out about Q’s side project,” R’s smile held the temptation of good gossip.

  
Before James could delve deeper, the mission Q was guiding OO3 on came to a satisfactory close and Q stepped off the comm. “Any chance you brought any of your tech back intact?” Q said accepting the cup of Earl Grey R handed him.

  
James just smiled.

 

 

“Oh, you saw the basket then,” Erik said taking a sip of his pint. “I told them I wanted it disgustingly decadent. Did they hit the mark?”

  
James nodded. “It was offensively large. R mentioned something about a side project…”

  
Erik smiled. “I heard an interesting piece of news the other day. Rupert Winchells, the second son of Lord Winchells of Pemberly, started serving prison time, 7 life sentences with no possibility of parole. Lord Winchells bankrupted his estate paying for his son’s defense.”

  
James glanced at Erik, surprised.

  
Erik grinned. “After murdering Jefferson, Winchells got off with just a slap on the wrist. Boys being boys and all that. Karma apparently thought differently. In the past 18 months Winchells has had all his sins brought to light very publicly. The last one was a rather unfortunate cashe of snuff porn of young boys. Scotland Yard’s technology forensics team had a field day. They found so much evidence that they were able to link him to three infamous child pornographers.” Erik looked around the pub and took another drink. “And by a strange coincidence, Winchells was sent to North Umbridge Penitentiary. Do you have any idea what they will do to him there?” North Umbridge was notorious for its intolerance for sex criminals. Monsters that feed off children were especially despised.

  
“Very unlucky for Wenchells,” James said lightly.

  
“The bastard deserved it for murdering Jefferson. If he had stopped and helped, Jefferson would still be alive today,” Erik said flatly. Erik finished his drink and ordered another. “Have you met Allan, the new OO2 yet?” he asked changing the subject.

  
James decided that it was time to try harder.

 

 

Q stumbled off the elevator. He was so tired he couldn’t even remember the last time he was actually at his flat. 4 back to back missions had prevented him for doing anything but taking quick cat naps on the couch in his office. Q’s stomach ached, reminding him that it had been almost that long since he had something to eat. Q debated texting for some delivery, but he doubted he could stay awake long enough for the delivery to arrive.

  
Q slipped his key into the lock and frowned when he didn’t feel the magnetic lock tug the key as it was designed. Lethargy quickly burned off as he door quickly opened. Q stepped back.

  
Then stared.

  
“Hello, Q. I was starting to doubt that you actually lived here,” James Bond said pulling Q into his flat. Q’s stomach made a loud hungry sound when he caught the smell of curry. James took Q’s laptop from him and pushed him into the dining room. Q took a seat and James stepped into the kitchen and brought out two bowls of homemade chicken curry and rice. He placed a bowl in front of Q and sat down. “R was kind enough to let me know when you have left 6.”

  
Q hummed appreciatively. “This is delicious. I am finding it hard to be anything less than thankful that you’ve broken into my flat, Commander Bond. I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long.”


End file.
